


Umbrella Street

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Emotional Sex, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Not Beta Read, Umbrellas, blushing Mycroft, brief memory flashback, he mentions shame a lot so just in case i'm tagging, i could write these two falling in love for the rest of my life, inspired by a photo i took and Zoey's comment, set in dublin because y'know why not, they're so in love i'm emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 07:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14563959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Love is dangerous, isn't it?Mycroft grapples with his feelings after leaving Greg standing in the rain back in London.Oh yeah, there's a street covered in umbrellas too, and so much love it takes his breath away.





	Umbrella Street

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LordOfDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOfDeath/gifts).



> So this is dedicated to my love, [Zoey](http://zoeymorningstar.tumblr.com/). We met because of these two idiots, and I love her. 
> 
> So I took [this](http://lostallsenseofcontrol.tumblr.com/post/173425652229/sooo-i-posted-this-picture-i-took-in-dublin-on) photo in Dublin, and Zoey commented: "Imagine Greg and Myc" thus this was born. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Mycroft stares out the window of his Dublin hotel suite. He’s staying in a prestigious five star, The Shelbourne; and his window looks out across Saint Stephen’s Green. 

The roads are busy with traffic, but artists gather along the railings of the park, hanging their art and selling it. 

 

He’s watching a couple, two men holding hands and pointing at one of the paintings before them.

Their body language is relaxed, they lean into each other. Mycroft feels a pang of jealousy in his chest and is taken aback by the sudden intensity of it. 

He narrows his eyes, trying to grasp why the sight has evoked such strong emotions on an otherwise bland and uneventful day. 

 

With a sudden uneasiness settling in his chest, he realises that it is because the two men are middle aged. One of them is taller than the other by a head, with shining grey hair seems so at peace to be out in the open and unashamed to hold his lover’s hand. 

The shorter man is balding, sporting a chestnut coloured beard. Even from his window four stories above ground, Mycroft can see the man smiling and laughing. 

Mycroft has never even held hands with a partner in public. Too much risk. 

Mycroft’s heart jumps when the grey haired man kisses the other’s cheek as the artist in front of them wraps up her painting for them. The jealousy is more prominent now. 

He cannot help but think of Gregory Lestrade.

 

“Adorable, aren’t they?” Anthea’s sudden appearance at his side makes him jump, his cheeks start to burn scarlet. “Hm.” She murmurs, following his gaze. “Remind you of anyone?”

_This woman_ , Mycroft thinks, _knows everything._

“It can’t happen.” Mycroft says perhaps a bit too sharply, because Anthea turns and arches an eyebrow at him. 

“And why not?” Anthea doesn’t break eye contact, “It was going so well. If I had someone who looked at me the way that Greg looks at you, oh boy I’d never let them go.”

Mycroft stays silent, biting his lip he looks out the window again. 

The couple are gone.

 

“I brought you some tea.” Anthea murmurs, touching Mycroft’s arm and holding out the cup and saucer. 

Mycroft takes hold of the brittle china, and takes a sip, some of the tension falling from his shoulders. 

“Tell me though.” Anthea says quietly, her voice gentle as she watches him with kind eyes. She leans against the wall by the window, the sunlight falling over her, all shadows. 

“A genuine question.”

Mycroft’s arm pauses in middair, the cup inches away from his lips. “You know exactly why.” His voice has a harsh edge to it again. He glances out of the window, longing to see the couple again. 

To see that something like that could be possible. 

 

Anthea is unperturbed once again, “Maybe so. But I’d like to hear you say it out loud.” 

“Why?”

She shrugs easily, “I’ll tell you later.” 

“Tell me now.” 

“No.” She says simply, subject closed. 

Mycroft knows Anthea and he knows that when she says no, she means it. She will not be moved.

If he wants to know her reasons, he’ll have to explain his actions from three days ago, back in London. 

Back where he left Gregory Lestrade standing in the rain, staring after him as he walked away. 

 

Mycroft glances one more time out the window, as if looking for a sign. 

When he finds none, he moves towards the sofa, sinking into the plush upholstery. Anthea mirrors him, choosing the armchair a few inches away from him. She crosses her legs and sits back. 

She is waiting for him. 

“It’s dangerous.” He murmurs, and even he knows that he sounds pathetic. 

“Mycroft, breathing is dangerous. That’s an insufficient reason and you know that. The man is a bloody policeman, he faces dangerous every day, as do you.” She takes a deep breath, “Okay, I’ll promise to stay silent as long as you promise to tell the truth.”

Mycroft nods once and she smiles warmly at him. Her encouragement wraps around him like a blanket, but he still feels ashamed as his mind relentlessly replays the look of realisation break across Greg’s face when Mycroft told him that he didn’t want to pursue ‘ _this_ ’ anymore. 

  

“You know they call me the Ice Man?” He questions, Anthea frowns but doesn’t say a word. 

Of course she does. 

“Gregory…” Mycroft tries to search for the right words. Anthea’s face remains open and kind. 

“He’s _good._ ” He murmurs, “He believes that the world is a good place despite what he sees every single day. He’s kind to me.” 

Anthea raises an eyebrow, but keeps to her promise of not interrupting him. 

It feels so foreign and uneasy to try and verbalise the tornado of thoughts in his mind. 

Mycroft takes another sip of his tea to ground him. 

“I-I don’t deserve kindness.” Mycroft can tell by the sudden change in Anthea’s expression that she desperately wants to disagree. Still, she doesn’t because she’s made her promise. 

“I’ve never felt like that, when I was with him…the world took on a different colour, an easiness that I never knew existed. I felt safe and it terrified me.” He looks away from Anthea’s sad eyes and down into his tea. “It’s not feasible or practical. We’re both busy men in important positions and it could cause scandal. I told him that I found I was not falling for him, that we should leave it. Then I walked away to get on a plane to come here. I left him behind. I can’t face that man again.”

When he raises his head once again, he catches Anthea wipe away a tear. 

He feels helpless, a shipwrecked sailor being drowned by the waves.

 

“You lie because you believe you are protecting others.” Anthea’s voice is gentle, soothing. “May I remind you that the man you have been in talks with for the last two days is the head of the government here? That he is openly gay and has a partner in this country that is known for its strong beliefs? This little country voted in favour of gay marriage, it made history. Myc, it is possible. It’s so fascinatingly possible.” 

Mycroft stares across at her and she leans forward, placing her hand on his knee. 

“The world is changing. It is practical for you both. If you love someone you make it work.” She squeezes his knee. “You deserve happiness, Myc. And he made you happy.” 

“He did.” The realisation hits him like a battering ram. Suddenly there is a lump in his throat and he stares at Anthea in horror. “I told him I felt nothing for him.” 

“Talk to him.” Anthea murmurs softly, “If anyone would ever understand it would be him.” 

Mycroft glances down at his hands, his mind racing. “He’ll hate me now.” 

Anthea’s laugh takes him completely off guard and his head snaps up to meet her eyes. 

They are bright with amusement. Mycroft is taken aback, and was about to ask when she speaks.

“Mycroft Holmes, have you met the man? I highly doubt he could hate anyone, least of all you.” 

“You really think so?” There are a million doubts rushing through him, but Anthea stares at him, her face open and honest as always. 

“Completely.” 

 

Anthea is typing away on her phone when Mycroft exits his room in his coat. 

“I’m going out for some air.” Mycroft informs her. His private phone is in his pocket. He hasn’t turned it on since he left London. He doesn’t want to do it here. 

Anthea looks up at him, another knowing smile on her face. “Hopefully the weather will hold up.”

“Hmm. It’s incredibly temperamental, but nevertheless I am going.” Mycroft murmurs, buttoning up his coat. 

Anthea gets up then, she walks across the carpet in her bare feet and she reaches out to touch his arm. “You know where I am if you need me.” 

“Of course.” 

She nods, there’s a glimmer of something in her eyes and Mycroft can’t quite pin it down. 

“Enjoy your walk then.” She calls after him as he leaves the suite. 

His phone weighs him down like an anchor as the concierge nods at him, asks him if he needs a guide. 

Mycroft shakes his head, he’s only going across the road into Saint Stephen’s Green. He’ll hardly find himself marooned. 

 

The artists are packing up their works as he passes by, he glances at the paintings and photographs and thinks about the couple from earlier. Picking out art for their home. 

The sight still stays with him, only Greg is the grey haired man and Mycroft is the other. They hold hands in public, they are free. 

Could he and Greg do that in London? Mycroft wonders idly, what would happen if they did?

Nothing, a voice in his head says, the world would continue to spin. 

The thought settles in his mind, leaving a small moment of peace where hope decides to rear its head. 

He enters the park and is taken aback by the people sitting around on the grass. It’s hardly amazing weather, but everyone is making the most of it. 

He wanders a little, walking through the tree lined paths. When the trail he had been following leads him to a lake and he sees an empty bench, he takes it as a sign. He sits. 

 

He watches the swans fight for the bread that a young child is feeding them. She’s accompanied by her parents and she giggles whenever the swans flap their wings. 

Mycroft presses down on the power button on his phone and he waits for it to slowly come back to life. 

When the family move on, a hoard of pigeons appear by his feet, desperately searching for crumbs. He hears someone laugh from across the lake and he is taken back to a memory.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re walking through Hyde Park after their third date, they brush arms every now and again, but they don’t hold hands. There’s already some unspoken agreement between them. 

Greg is patient and kind, he stops by a coffee stall and buys them two coffees, something warm to hold in their hands. 

There’s an old lady feeding a large gathering of pigeons, so they both take a different path. Talk between them is easy and free, but they are distracted by the barks of a Dalmatian; let off his leash he goes running towards the pigeons and they scatter immediately. 

Greg shakes his head in amusement, his laughter lines crinkling as he watches.

Mycroft is hit by a wave of emotion at the sight, and he wants to be unafraid, he wants to kiss Greg right now out in the open, treasure this moment. Maybe he would have gained the courage, had a pigeon not come barrelling towards him. He lets out a shout, and immediately Greg pulls him out of the path of the oncoming bird, but it is too late; while the bird doesn’t fly into him, it does leave a lovely white streak across the shoulder of his new suit. 

Greg takes one look at Mycroft’s expression and loses it completely. His laughter is like gold dust and he laughs so much he has to bend over, clutching his stomach. Mycroft cannot help but join in, and here they are; two grown men in Hyde Park clutching their stomachs from laughing because one of their suits just got shit on by a bird. 

It’s perfect. 

 

* * *

 

 

When his phone vibrates in his hands, Mycroft is brought back to the present and is taken aback when he realises he’s smiling. The memory brings a warmth with it and it settles easily in his chest. He finds that he misses that feeling, it was never one he had experienced before Greg.

He looks down at his phone with a feeling of dread. 

There are ten missed calls, all from Greg. Most were from the night he left. But there was one this morning and Mycroft stares at the timestamp in confusion. 

Why keep trying? Surely he should have given up by now, especially with how Mycroft treated him. It doesn’t make sense. 

Mycroft sees there are messages now too. 

They’re all from Greg. 

There’s ones from after he left Greg alone. 

 

_[19:24] I don’t think you’re like that, Myc._

 

_[19:30] Please don’t throw this away._

 

_[19:45] I’m not giving up on you._

 

Then from two days ago. 

 

_[15:10] You’re in Ireland?_

_[15:11] You looked wonderful on the news, I wish I could be with you._

 

_[20:34] Myc, love, please just let me talk to you. Let me have my say._

 

The last text he received was from yesterday and he can feel a lump form in his throat as he reads it. 

 

_[17:53] I love you, Mycroft. Nothing you say will ever change that. Just…even just tell me you’re alright. Please Myc, don’t give up on us._

 

Mycroft sits still, his phone screen has gone black again. He had told Greg that he wasn’t capable of love, something he’d been told time and time and again. 

But this time he felt different...he felt safe with Greg. In some way that was more of a risk, what on earth would he do when it all went up in flames? Like all relationships eventually do. In a way, he is terrified he’d never be the same person again, that he’d never get himself back.   
A voice in his head quietly asks him ‘but wouldn’t it be worth it? What if it did last?’  
A man’s laughter brings Mycroft from his reverie.   
It’s the grey haired man, the couple that Mycroft had watched earlier. 

  
He catches his breath, there they are walking by, holding each other’s hand. It seems so easy, Mycroft realises all of a sudden, they’re happy.   
He’s reminded of the peacefulness that he feels with Greg.  
These men were around the same age as them both, and they are unashamed.  
It can be done, Mycroft realises.   
He almost wants to ask the couple how they do it. But they’re gone now in the distance, he wants the safety Greg brings. He longs for it.

He stares at his phone and thinks about the last three days. He thinks of Greg.   
He feels a nervousness curl in his stomach and it’s bizarre; he’s been in so many life or death situations, but this was different. This was _his_ life and _his_ future.  
Surely it’s time to stop being afraid?  
He presses Greg’s name in his contacts and he watches as the phone starts to call Greg.  
Mycroft holds his breath, he feels stranded again. On a sea of emotion, so far out he can’t see land.  
What could he even say to make this better?

He doesn’t have an idea of what he’ll say when Greg answers... _if_  he answers.   
Someone’s phone starts ringing to Mycroft’s right and he closes his eyes to block it out as he listens to the dial tone on his own phone.  
“Mycroft.” Greg’s voice is gentle and soft and it immediately reduces some of the tension in Mycroft’s shoulders.  
The other person’s phone has stopped ringing too, but there’s something wrong. There’s an echo on Greg’s side, and he frowns.  
“Gregory?”   
“Hey there, My.”   
It’s then that it clicks, and Mycroft turns his head, and standing by the bench with his phone to his ear and an impossibly kind smile on his face is Gregory Lestrade. 

Mycroft can’t believe his eyes, he stares at Greg in wonder, unaware of the smile that has blossomed across his face.  
_“Gregory.”_ Mycroft whispers his name, it sounds like a wish.   
Greg’s eyes are bright, pools of chocolate. He hangs up on Mycroft and places his phone in his coat pocket. “May I?” He asks and nods to the empty half of the bench. 

“Of course.” Mycroft is still taken aback at the sudden appearance of the other man. He’s more surprised to feel a wave of happiness turn in his chest. 

How could he ever have convinced himself that he didn’t want this? That he didn’t  _need_  this?  


Greg sits with a few inches between them. The unspoken rule still in act, even here.   
Greg looks out across the water, watching the swans. He seems pensive, open.   
Mycroft is trying to gather the words in his head and put them into sentences, but Greg seems to understand and stays silent, in no rush.   
“I am so sorry about what I did.” Mycroft’s voice is quiet, hesitant. He’s tense until Greg’s eyes focus on his face, before the gentle warmth crosses Greg’s face, putting him at ease. 

Greg is smiling and he reaches out a hand, but seems to think twice, choosing to drape it over the bench instead, his hand rests casually across Mycroft’s neck, and Greg squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.   
“We agreed to honesty.” Greg’s voice is soft, the familiar sound relaxes Mycroft further.  “And Myc, I didn’t believe a word you said. You are so capable of love.”   
Mycroft feels a sudden longing to rest his head on Greg’s shoulder, but turns his head to stare at Greg’s open and understanding face.  
“I think...” Mycroft struggles for the words. “I was scared. I  _am_  scared.” 

Greg watches him intently, he closes the distance between their bodies on the bench, pressing himself against Mycroft’s side; it was unbelievably comforting.   
“What are you scared of, love?”   
Mycroft leans in to Greg, “I love you.”   
Greg squeezes his shoulder again, “and why is that scaring you?”  
This man...Mycroft thinks, is amazing. He’s patient and kind, he understands. 

He tries to put his thoughts from earlier into words and struggles for a few seconds.   
“What happens when it ends?”   
Greg raises an eyebrow in what seems like amusement. “And who said I was ever going to let you go?”   
Mycroft stares at him in wonder.   
Greg smiles at him, “I’ll never give up on us, love.”  
“How did I ever find you?” Mycroft realises he has said it out loud, and he can feel the blush flow into his cheeks.  
Greg can only laugh, “Well, you did abduct me the night after I found Sherlock for the first time, so you tell me.”

Greg squeezes Mycroft’s shoulder again, gently and Mycroft raises his head.   
“I want to show you something.” Greg murmurs, “I think you’ll like it.”  
Mycroft stares at him, curiosity alight in his features. “Here?”  
Greg shakes his head, “Very short walk away.” Then smiles hopefully, “Come with me?”  
Mycroft can only nod his head and they both get to their feet, the sun is starting to set and there’s an orange tint to the sky now. Greg’s hands remain by his sides as they begin walking, and Mycroft wants to close the distance, he wants to but he can’t just yet.

“Where are you staying?” Mycroft asks as they make their way out of the park.   
He sees a few people do a double take when they see him, and he reminds himself that he was on national news for the last two days. He had been talking with the Taoiseach about Brexit and the border between the North and the Republic. Clearly, clearly people here were going to recognise him.  
Still, it makes him uneasy. He tries to focus on Greg’s presence a few inches away from him.  
“Well.” Greg hums, amusement on his face. “I didn’t really think that far ahead.”  
Mycroft can’t help but laugh, he’s taken aback by it himself. The way happiness curls in his chest, settling there and radiating warmth.  
“Did you even bring luggage?”  
They cross the road, entering Grafton Street. Mycroft tries to ignore the people around them.  
Greg shrugs, “I left them with Anthea. She told me where you were.”  
“Anthea knew you were coming?”  
Greg snorts, “Of course she did.”  
Mycroft remains amazed by how Anthea seemed so calm before he left the hotel.  
“Stay with me?” Mycroft stares at Greg longingly. He wants to feel the other man’s warmth again.  
“If that’s what you want, Myc.”  
“Yes.” His voice is quiet, but he’s never been so sure of anything in his life. “Is that alright?”  
Greg smiles across at him, he doesn’t even need to answer, the light shining in his eyes is answer enough.

Greg takes a right turn and Mycroft follows him. They end up in a side alley. There are people sitting outside a restaurant, but no one is watching them.   
“Why here?”  
“Shh, impatient.” Greg says teasingly, “Close your eyes.”  
Mycroft stares at Greg in disbelief.  
“Trust me.” Greg murmurs, and that’s all it takes. Mycroft closes his eyes.  
Greg places a hand on Mycroft’s right shoulder. “Okay.” His voice is close to Mycroft’s ear and it sends shivers up his spine. “Walk forward until I squeeze your shoulder, hm?”  
Mycroft can only nod, his heart thumping in anticipation. He takes careful steps guided by Greg. When Greg lightly squeezes his shoulder he comes to a standstill, holding his breath.  
“Turn to your right, love.” Greg’s grip falls from his shoulder when he turns, but they’re standing so close to each other that he can feel Greg at his side.  
“You can open your eyes now.”  
Mycroft takes a deep breath before opening his eyes.  
He’s met by another small alley, but this is different.  
It’s covered in umbrellas, hanging from the sky.

They were in a rainbow of colour, something surreal and hidden away from the general public.   
“When I saw this I thought of you.” Greg’s voice is soft beside him, he’s watching Mycroft with an expression of fondness that makes Mycroft’s heart swell.  
Mycroft steps forward, into the alley, staring up at the umbrellas shielding him from the sun.  
“How did you find this?” Mycroft asks, as he walks further down the path.  
Greg’s laugh comes from a few feet behind him, and Mycroft turns around, searching for Greg’s face in this sea of colour. “I took a wrong turn when I was trying to get to your hotel. Fate, isn’t it?”  
Mycroft doesn’t realise he’s smiling at first, but even looking at the other man makes him feel warm, _safe._  
He stares up at the umbrellas, then at Greg. In that moment he feels so full of love, all the love that others had told him he would never feel.  
And there in front of him stands Greg Lestrade, a shining beacon of hope and love.  
For once, Mycroft doesn’t think it through, he doesn’t allow himself to.

He closes the distance between him and Greg in three steps. Greg is staring at him with wide eyes, confusion clear across his face.   
Mycroft will forever swear that the world stopped for them the minute that their lips met under the umbrellas, out in the open for the first time.  
Greg stills in shock for a few seconds, but when Mycroft continues the kiss, he brings his hands up to cradle Mycroft’s face.  
The kiss is everything Mycroft has come to treasure. It’s slow, it’s gentle. The word _safe_ comes to him again. When they break apart Mycroft rests his forehead against Greg’s.  
“You sure?” Greg whispers. Mycroft can only nod.

They stand like that for what seems like an age, holding each other, just being.   
Greg leans forward to kiss Mycroft again, and Mycroft is taken aback by the happiness he feels when he can tell Greg is smiling against his lips.  
“I love you.” Mycroft breathes and Greg pulls him into an embrace.  
“I love you too.” Greg murmurs, “I’m never giving up on us.”  
“ _Thank you_.” He means every word, he presses another kiss to Greg’s lips before they pull away from each other.  
Mycroft is taken aback when he sees that Greg’s eyes are watering.  
“What’s wrong?” Mycroft asks, worried.  
Greg chuckles, shaking his head. He reaches out to hold Mycroft’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “Absolutely nothing at all. I’m just happy, love.”  
Mycroft gazes at the other man in wonderment. He looks up at the umbrellas again in awe, “I can’t believe you came across them by accident.”  
“I’m so glad I did.” Greg’s smile makes Mycroft feel warm, the happiness in his chest seems to spread throughout him, Mycroft feels so alive, it’s intoxicating.  
“Would you like to come back to the hotel?”  
Greg watches him for a second, the smile lingering on his face. “Of course. Lead the way.”

They walk side by side, hands brushing against each other. Mycroft glances at Greg from the corner of his eye as he dares to take Greg’s hand in his. Damn the people, he wants this.   
Greg’s look of blatant surprise turns into a bright grin as they pass by a crowd of tourists. He squeezes Mycroft’s hand as they walk.  
Mycroft finds that he suddenly doesn’t care about what other people think when they see them, he’s _happy_. He feels a hint of regret when he thinks about how he was so afraid to do this before.  
They wait at a crossing as a line of buses go by, the hotel in view, and Greg’s thumb gently traces circles on Mycroft’s palm.  
When they arrive at the hotel, the concierge tips his top hat at them, a welcoming smile on his face.  
Mycroft leads Greg to the elevator and they step inside. Greg lets go of Mycroft’s hand, to wrap his arm around his waist. It’s unsaid, but Mycroft can even sense Greg’s delight, he feels it too; it’s nice being able to touch someone you love outside closed and locked doors.  
He sends a silent fervent thank you to the couple he saw earlier.

When Mycroft unlocks the door to his suite, they walk into the sitting room area and are met by a bottle of champagne on ice, champagne flutes, and a bunch of various coloured roses in a crystal vase.   
Greg raises an eyebrow at Mycroft, who just looks confused.  
There’s a card sitting on the table. It looks hand-painted, when they both move forward towards it and Mycroft picks it up carefully, he can see that it’s the silhouette of two men alone on Westminster Bridge, walking towards Big Ben and the houses of parliament.  
Mycroft can feel Greg at his side, and when he glances over at him, Greg has that glazed look in his eyes, like earlier when he said he was happy.  
“Anthea?” He asks when he makes eye contact with Mycroft.  
Mycroft only nods before opening the card. Inside, Anthea’s familiar script covers the inside of the card.

_Hello you two idiots in love,_   
_Don’t worry, I’m not around. I’ve moved to a different room._   
_Take this time for you two. You need it._   
_Love doesn’t always run smoothly, but you both make it work._   
_Enjoy your time here; you can be in your own private world here._   
_Bought some stuff for you two too ;)_   
_PS: I don’t want to hear from either of you for the next two days until we meet to go to the airport._   
_Love, Anthea x_

Greg chuckles, “I’m hesitant to find out the purpose of the wink.”  
Mycroft places the card back on the table. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”  
Greg picks up the bottle of champagne and glances across at Mycroft. “Shall we?”  
Mycroft can only nod and Greg pulls off the cork with a loud pop. Mycroft picks up the two glasses as Greg pours. Then they both stand facing each other, Mycroft’s eyes explore Greg’s face, all the places where he has kissed, all the places he has touched.  
“Toast?” Greg asks, breaking Mycroft away from his thoughts. There’s amusement dancing in his eyes as though he knows Mycroft’s train of thought.  
Mycroft nods, holdingout his glass, centimetres away from Greg’s.  
“To us.” They both say at the same time, before they clink glasses they meet each other’s eyes, and Mycroft feels a lightness in his chest. He could drown in those eyes so easily, but every time Greg would save him. He doesn’t feel lost at sea anymore.  
Greg is his lighthouse, still there, still guiding despite the storms.

“Come sit with me, love.” Greg says as he sits down, sinking into the sofa. He makes a soft hum of content as Mycroft sits beside him before he wraps an arm around him.   
They sit in silence, Mycroft resting his head on Greg’s shoulder as they sip their champagne.  
“Y’know,” Greg murmurs, “I was scared at first.”  
“Of what?”  
“How I felt. For you, I mean.”  
“But you’ve been in love before, why should that scare you?” Mycroft asks curiously.  
He’s surprised to hear Greg huff a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to Mycroft’s forehead. “Not like this.” He pauses and Mycroft waits. “This…is so delicate.” His arm tightens around Mycroft’s shoulder. “When you walked away a few days ago I was terrified that it was the end.”  
“I’m sorry.” Mycroft whispers.  
Greg takes a shaky breath and Mycroft wants to move, to look at Greg’s face, but Greg is holding him tightly. “’s okay, love.” He breathes, pressing another kiss to Mycroft’s hair this time. “Just the thought of life without you…it isn’t something I ever want to experience.”  
Mycroft holds his breath for a few seconds, he feels as though he might cry. He extracts himself from Greg’s grip and puts both their glasses on the table.  
Then he turns to Greg, who watches him intently. Mycroft moves forward to cradle the other man’s face in his hands. “You’ll never have to.” He whispers, it’s now he realises that’s it’s true, that this is the biggest commitment he’ll ever make.  
A tear rolls down Greg’s cheek and Mycroft kisses it away, Greg is smiling at him in what Mycroft can only see as love, as happiness.

They’re both so in sync with each other that they move forward to close the space between them at the same time. Their lips meet in a kiss, it’s so gentle that Mycroft can’t help but smile into it.   
The kiss remains soft and tentative for a few seconds, until Greg licks at Mycroft’s lips, a silent request for him to open his mouth. When Mycroft does, he finally gets to taste Greg again. It’s so familiar and comforting that Mycroft almost doesn’t notice the fire that is beginning to run through his veins. Greg’s hands trail down Mycroft’s back, warm even through his shirt.  
Mycroft wants more.

When they break apart for breath, Mycroft meets Greg’s eyes. Greg can only laugh, knowing him so well as to understand what it means without words. Moving in to kiss Mycroft’s neck, his hand untucks Mycroft’s shirt from his trousers, his fingers finally caressing his bare skin.  
“You sure?” He whispers between kisses, pausing briefly to gauge Mycroft’s expression.  
“Please.” Mycroft nods.  
Greg leans in to kiss Mycroft again softly and Mycroft takes his hand, rising from the sofa.  
Greg follows his lead, they stop to kiss each other every few metres.  
When they get into the bedroom, Mycroft turns to close the door behind him and Greg pushes him up against it. Mycroft’s rendered breathless when Greg leans in to kiss him again, Greg presses himself up against Mycroft and Mycroft can’t help but moan as both their erections meet through their clothes.  
“You’re gorgeous.” Greg’s voice is husky, and he starts to trail kisses down Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft rests his head against the door. “Greg?” He whispers.  
Greg takes a step back so he can see Mycroft properly.  
“I don’t…I don’t have anything with me.”  
Greg bites his bottom lip. “Now that you mention it…”  
Mycroft can feel the blush climb up his face.  
Greg shrugs, “There’s other ways.” He graces Mycroft with a wicked smile, and Mycroft can hear his heart thump in his ears. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.” Greg says with determination. Mycroft starts unbuttoning his shirt, all too willing. He watches Greg until he begins to mirror him.  
“Bed, now.” Are the only two words he can manage when they’re both naked.

The sunlight streams in on them, its warmth comforting. Greg holds out his hand for Mycroft as they move towards the bed. They both stop in their tracks when they see a gift bag on the bed.  
“Myc?”  
Mycroft lets go of Greg’s hand reluctantly to move towards the bag. When he picks it up and looks inside his cheeks go bright red.  
“What’s wrong?” Greg asks coming to Mycroft’s side. When Mycroft hands him the bag, Greg takes one look and laughs loudly. Mycroft can’t help but grin at the sound.  
Greg takes the bottle of lube out of the bag, unable to keep a straight face. “Well, this solves our problem.” He gazes at Mycroft, then snorts. “I’m guessing this is what the wink on the card referred to.”  
Mycroft chuckles shaking his head, “I can’t believe-“ He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Greg pulls him up against him and kisses him deeply. Mycroft is stunned for a moment, but settles into the kiss easily, his hands find Greg’s naked, warm skin and he holds him close, caressing his body.  
Greg moans against his lips, before leading Mycroft to the bed. They break apart for the few seconds it takes for them to climb onto the four poster bed.

Mycroft lies back into the array of pillows and Greg’s eyes are smoky and dark as he moves to lean over him. It’s Mycroft who reaches up for Greg’s lips, grasping his shoulders to pull him down into a heated kiss, raw and full of longing.   
His hands roam down Greg’s body, when he caresses Greg’s arse, he pulls the man up against him. They both moan as their cocks slide against each other. Mycroft instinctively ruts his hips against Greg’s, grinding up against him. Greg breathes heavily, the warm air falling across Mycroft’s face. When Mycroft moves against Greg again, Greg’s inhale is jagged.  
“Myc.” He whispers.  
“Hm?” Mycroft gazes up at the other man with wide, innocent eyes.  
“What do you want?” Greg questions, as he traces Mycroft’s jawline with his index finger. The sensation causes a shiver to run down Mycroft’s back.  
This man is intoxicating, he thinks.  
“You,” He breathes, “Inside me.”  
Greg stops breathing for a brief second, and Mycroft only holds him closer. “Please.”  
“Of course, love. Of course.” Greg presses a kiss to Mycroft’s lips before trailing quick kisses down Mycroft’s body. Sucking a bruise along Mycroft’s collarbone, the spot that Greg knows Mycroft is sensitive at. Mycroft can only moan, and as Greg continues kissing his skin, Mycroft’s hands find themselves in Greg’s hair.

Greg leaves Mycroft’s erection be, for which Mycroft is beyond grateful for. Instead he kisses Mycroft’s thigh and Mycroft knows that he needs to spread his legs. They’ve come to learn all the signals of the other’s body, it’s more intimate each time they have sex. It makes Mycroft’s head reel. How could it only just keep getting better?  
He hears Greg open the bottle of lube, and raises himself onto his elbows to watch as Greg meticulously warms the liquid on his fingers. Greg meets his eyes, and Mycroft nearly moans at the very sight of Greg on his stomach, lying between Mycroft’s legs.  
“Ready, love?”  
Mycroft can only nod and he falls back onto his back when Greg slowly traces around his hole. Greg presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Mycroft’s thigh, before he works a well-coated finger into Mycroft. Mycroft’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.  
“Mhhmm.” Greg hums, “That’s it, relax.” The husky undertone to his voice goes straight to Mycroft’s cock. He can already feel the pre-come againsthis stomach. When Greg begins to move his finger, he starts slowly; it’s almost too good.  
Mycroft begins to move with Greg’s motions, gasping as Greg slowly inserts a seconds finger.  
“Okay?” He asks, looking up to Mycroft with concern.  
“Better than.” Mycroft breathes.  
“Good.” Mycroft can hear the smile in Greg’s voice and he feels ecstatic. Greg slowly builds up a rhythm, listening carefully to Mycroft’s moans, paying attention to his movements.  
His fingers slowly begin to start thrusting and Mycroft can’t help but shout when Greg grazes his prostate, his vision goes white for a brief second.  
“More…” Mycroft pleads between ragged breaths. He groans when Greg’s fingers leave him, but he hears Greg with the lube bottle again, re-coating his fingers. When his fingers return, there’s three of them. It takes Mycroft’s breath away when he feels how gentle Greg is, how they know each other’s bodies so well.

Greg hits that spot another few times, spacing it out, allowing Mycroft to not get too overwhelmed too quickly.   
Mycroft watches with hooded eyes as Greg begins to rut his hips against the duvet. It’s enough to make him beg for Greg’s cock.  
“I want you.” He murmurs, “Now, please…”  
Greg only nods, moving onto his knees. He’s got the bottle again, but this time he spreads the lube over his cock, hissing at the sudden coolness of it.  
“Gregory.” Mycroft moans, even the very sight of Greg in front of him brings Mycroft to the edge.  
Greg moves over Mycroft, pressing a closed-mouth kiss on Mycroft’s shoulder.  
Mycroft wraps his legs around Greg’s waist and Greg slowly enters Mycroft. The sudden stretch and warmth of Greg inside him makes Mycroft cry out. He’s almost delirious.  
“Fuck, My…” Greg groans, moving slowly until he’s fully seated. Mycroft can feel his own cock throb where it’s trapped between him and Greg. Mycroft wraps his arms around Greg’s neck, gazing into Greg’s eyes. When Greg begins to move, Mycroft treasures how the other man’s mouth opens as though he’s going to moan, but no sound comes out. Greg leans down to kiss Mycroft, an urgency to the kiss.  
Greg thrusts into Mycroft, groaning against Mycroft’s lips.  
Greg gradually quickens his movements, the build-up takes Mycroft’s breath away. He holds Greg close, but uses a hand to move between them and stroke his own cock, which is dripping with pre-come by now.  
“Myc,” Greg moans, burying his head in Mycroft’s shoulder. They’re both close, and when Greg finds that spot again, they both cry out. Greg’s thrusts are becoming erratic, his breath is hot against the skin of Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft shouts out Greg’s name as he comes, his come spurting between them. Greg sobs into Mycroft’s shoulder, he manages two more thrusts before his breathing stops for a second, followed by a deep, shaky inhale. Mycroft can feel Greg come inside him, Greg shakes with the intensity of his ejaculation.  
Mycroft combs his fingers through Greg’s hair as he comes down. Greg very nearly collapses onto Mycroft, and Mycroft just holds him as close as he can.

Mycroft awakes from his short sleep feeling as though he’s being watched. When he opens his eyes, he’s face to face with Greg, who’s smile is almost heartbreaking.   
They’re sweaty and sticky, but neither of them care, Greg’s hand rests on Mycroft’s hip.  
“I’ve missed being able to wake up next to you.” Greg whispers, as though he’s telling a secret.  
Mycroft’s so full of wonder and love at that moment that he can’t help it, but the words spill out of his mouth. “Move in with me, when we get back to London.”  
Greg’s eyes widen with shock, it’s almost comical. Then he smiles bright, his teeth showing and Mycroft can’t help but pull him so close that their chests are touching.  
“That would be amazing.” Greg says excitedly, “Yes, god _yes._ ”  
It’s Mycroft’s turn to smile, he’s never felt so happy before, he feels free and he feels safe. He feels _loved_.  
“I love you, Gregory.” He murmurs, placing a light kiss on Greg’s nose, causing the other man to chuckle.  
“I love you too, Myc. So much it hurts sometimes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, y’know.”  
Mycroft can’t stop the tears that come to his eyes.  
“My?” Greg whispers, a hint of worry on his face, afraid that maybe he has said too much.  
“I’m just so happy.” Mycroft whispers back, echoing Greg’s words from earlier.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://lostallsenseofcontrol.tumblr.com/).


End file.
